Dark Bliss
by Tolkanonms
Summary: Did you ever wonder how Gimli, a Dwarf, came to be held in such high regard by the Galadhrim, Elves of Lothlórien? Galadriel, Celeborn, Legolas and Haldir are also featured, and all of the Fellowship members appear.


**Dark Bliss**

**Author**:Jenn - tolkanonms

**Disclaimer**: The characters and context belong to J.R.R. Tolkien, and no disrespect to him or his heirs or executors is intended by their use. This is a work of fiction; no profit beyond the pleasure of giving a gift is being made. The original plotbunny came from a chat with JastaElf - but don't hold her responsible for what I did to the poor creature.

**Rating**: G and 70%.

**Archiving**: Edhellond. Anywhere else, permission required, so I'll know where to send corrections.

**Dedication**: This story was written for the JastaElf as a sort of "get-well card." It features Celeborn, which ought to get her blood flowing along the proper paths. But it's turned out to be something of a Soledad story, too, what with Gimli having a starring role, and since she's also been ill, I offer a dedication to her, as well. (Makes you wonder what I do to people I *don't* like, doesn't it?) And Shield, thanks for the correction!

**Summary**: Did you ever wonder how Gimli, a Dwarf, came to be held in such high regard by the Galadhrim, Elves of Lothlórien?

"Husband, the air is changing. Do you not sense it also?"

Standing beside Galadriel, Celeborn felt the warmth of the afternoon sun in the clearing go suddenly chill. He listened to the rustling of mallyrn leaves around them as he considered carefully his reply.

"Indeed I do, my beloved wife. What its meaning may be, I cannot say. Yet it is somehow familiar."

The Lady of the Golden Wood sighed.

"Aye, Celeborn, this sign has been seen before, though not in this Age."

She took the forester's muscular arm and turned to face him.

"Shadow is stirring o'er our lands once again."

Celeborn placed a broad hand on his wife's soft cheek. Tilting his head to one side, he said, "O queen of my heart, we have known for some time that we must once again battle the dark forces of Sauron, but I sense that is not all you foresee. Tell me, what else do the earth, the water and the wind say to you that my own ears do not hear?"

Galadriel sighed and looked down for a moment. When she raised her eyes again to meet those of her husband, tears balanced on her cheekbones.

"Oh, Celeborn," she cried out, her voice uncharacteristically shaky, "a shadow is falling across the moon!"

The silver-haired Elf-lord paled visibly.

"The timing is most…unfortunate, wife. The Ring-"

Galadriel scowled darkly at him, then whirled away and turned her back on him. When she spoke, her voice was full of menace. And warning.

"You think I am not aware of this?"

Celeborn's face now matched his white robes. Carefully, gently, as he might approach a frightened fawn - or an angered wolf - he took a step toward his wife, speaking soft words of love in the flowing Silverlode of ancient Quenya. When he saw her slender shoulders begin to shake with suppressed sobs, he risked another step and slid his arms around her waist.

Galadriel turned in his arms and buried her face against his robes, weeping. Celeborn relaxed and stroked her golden hair, murmuring, "There, there. All will be well, my love. There, there."

She gave a small sniffle, then lifted her eyes to search the face she loved so dearly. When at last she spoke, her voice was no more than a hoarse whisper.

"Oh, Celeborn, what shall we do? The Council has met. The Fellowship has been named. There can be no turning back, nor even a delay."

Celeborn raised one long finger to her lips.

"Hush, beloved. All will be well. I will send word to Elrond. He will know what to do."

Galadriel rested her head once more on Celeborn's chest, relaxing into his embrace and sighing softly.

"You are wise as ever, my love."

Celeborn laid his head on the golden crown of her hair for a moment, then sought the eyes he knew were watching. With a flick of an eyebrow, he set in motion the deeds that would determine the fate of all of Middle-earth.

Haldir hurried back to the talan he shared with his brothers. There was much to be arranged and little time in which to see it all done. Many of the Galadhrim were too young to remember, his own brothers among them. He himself had barely been of age when last they confronted this threat to their home and treasured way of life.

Yet he had not forgotten. He could not.

An involuntary shudder ran through the Elf, and he schooled his thoughts toward forming a plan, calling on the discipline that had earned him the title of Marchwarden of Lothlórien at so young an age. He knew with certainty the matter must be handled within the borders of the Wood. The honor of Lothlórien was at stake. The fewer witnesses, the better.

When the time came, he would send as many guardians as possible out to patrol the fences. Only a chosen handful of the oldest marchwardens - those who, like himself, remembered the last time the Golden Wood had faced this terror - would remain within the city.

As he ran through the darkening forest, his mind replayed the words Celeborn had spoken into his mind: "You know what must be done." Indeed, he did. Haldir himself would meet the party. He would not fail Celeborn's trust in him. He could not, for upon his actions hung the fate of all of Middle-earth.

"Damned Elves and their strange habits. Why in the name of The Smith am I being dragged from my bed in the middle of the night when we are to depart at the crack of dawn?"

Gimli was not in a good mood, but he had the good sense to keep such thoughts from spilling out of his mouth as one of the Imladris guards led him down a seemingly endless course of hallways and breezeways.

At length, they came to an ornate door. The Elf knocked, received some acknowledgement from within and opened the door, gesturing to the Dwarf that he should enter.

Gimli jumped slightly as the door closed behind him, leaving him to face a grim Lord Elrond and Legolas, the Mirkwood prince, whose expression was unreadable.

"Please be seated, Master Dwarf," the Lore-master said, waving his hand at the empty seat between two more Elves. Gimli recognized one from the Council - what was his name?

Before the Dwarf's mind could fetch the answer, Elrond supplied it.

"You have met my seneschal, Erestor, and no doubt you have heard the songs of our minstrel, Lindir, these past nights in the Halls of Fire."

Brief nods of acknowledgement were made all around.

"I have summoned you here, Gimli, son of Gloin, to bestow on you a special task, a task upon whose performance the success of the Quest, and thus the fate of all Middle-earth, will hang. This task can only be carried out by one in whose veins the blood of Men does not flow, for in the face of temptation, the strength of that blood has failed Middle-earth before."

Turning to his seneschal, he raised his voice slightly: "Erestor, bring forth the box."

Erestor nodded to Lindir. The minstrel rose from his seat and opened a cleverly concealed panel in the base of a fountain that burbled at the edge of the library balcony. From its cool interior, he withdrew a small box, which he handed to Erestor with barely concealed pride. Erestor bowed his head slightly, then turned and handed the box to Gimli.

The eyes of the Dwarf grew wide as he gazed upon it, for it was a work of art. The cube of tight-grained dark wood was laced all through with threads of silver - nay, it was mithril! - and inlaid with small, cut gems and polished seashells that must have come from other Elven realms.

The craftsman within the Dwarven warrior was lost in awe, but Gimli was quickly summoned back by Elrond's voice warning him, "Guard it well, for it is precious. And handle it carefully: keep it away from water and fire, for they will sap the powers of its contents."

Gimli carefully set the box on the low table before him as Elrond continued.

"You will speak to no one but Haldir of Lothlórien of this box. Neither the Men nor the Hobbits are to know of its existence, for that which is borne within it contains a power that none of them could resist-"

"Especially the Hobbits," muttered Erestor under his breath. Lindir let a smile flicker briefly across his face.

"-and if the box is opened before you reach the Golden Wood, the Quest will fail, to the ruin of all."

Having secured a solemn nod from Gimli, Elrond shifted his piercing gaze to the Greenwood Elf.

"Legolas Thranduilion, I charge you with the protection of Gimli and his burden. Leave the Ringbearer and the others to Aragorn and Boromir."

Legolas nodded.

"Now go to your rest, both of you. And speak to no one of this meeting."

Unable to sleep, Gimli rose from among the slumbering Companions and sought the company of the Legolas, who had taken the middle watch that night and was currently perched on a low rock listening to the night noises.

"What ails you, Dwarf, that you cannot find your rest?"

"I wish to talk with you, Elf."

"And what would an Elf and a Dwarf have in common to discuss?"

Gimli looked Legolas squarely in the eye. "I think you know whereof I would speak."

Legolas paled slightly and glanced at the huddled forms scattered around the fire nearby. Satisfied that he counted six separate snoring creatures, he returned the Dwarf's gaze and hissed softly, "One does not speak of such things!"

"Well, if you won't tell me, then perhaps I should ask Aragorn. After all, he is part Elf…"

"No! Not him!" Legolas whispered fiercely. "He of all people should not be tempted, for he knows what power lies within the box!"

Of course, Gimli had no intention of breaking his agreement with Elrond, but he was a consummate gambler, as were many of his kind, and so he played out his bluff carefully.

"Well, then, you had best start talking, Elf."

Legolas grimaced. He suspected he was being tricked, for he had come to respect Gimli's loyalty and courage in the many days they had marched together. He doubted the Dwarf would betray Elrond's trust, but he could not risk failing his own duty to guard the box and its bearer. Sighing, he checked again on the snoring, then began to tell the Dwarf what little he knew.

Gimli's eyebrows rose. And rose. And rose again. Dwarves, by the nature of their society, had few dealings with such matters, but he had heard enough Men grumbling in taverns late in the night to have some inkling of the problems such things could cause. He had not realized that Elves were also thus troubled.

"'Tis all rumors, mind you! The Lady has ever been kind and gracious when I have visited the Golden Wood. These tales of mad rages and wailing that shakes the very earth could easily be things told to little Elflings by their older brothers and sisters in the dark of night to scare them."

The Dwarf stroked his beard and puffed on his pipe.

"But now you are not so sure."

Legolas shrugged, saying, "I thought that was all they were. Until the night before we left Imladris, when Erestor fetched me to Elrond's library. I had never seen Lindir so somber. It made me wonder."

"Well," Gimli said gruffly as he stood and stretched, "you have given me much to ponder, Elf. I thank you for your time."

And although he returned to his bedroll, it was a long time before sleep claimed him.

Fleeing the Mines of Moria after Gandalf's fall, the remaining Companions reached the edge of Lothlórien. The light shifted, and all about them, the trees took on a strange glow. Gimli hefted his axe into a fighting stance.

"Stay close, young Hobbits! They say that a great sorceress lives here! A She-elf possessed of such terrible beauty and power that all who look upon her at the wrong moment fall under her spell and are never seen again!"

And as he finished his words, the Fellowship found itself under the very close guard of Haldir and his elite patrol of Galadhrim. After a brief exchange of greetings with Aragorn and Legolas, Haldir looked over at Gimli.

"Walk with me, Dwarf!" he commanded.

When Aragorn began to protest, Legolas silenced him with a hand on his arm.

Satisfied they were far enough from the party to be out of the earshot of Men and Elves, Haldir stopped and turned to Gimli.

"You bring something of dark and terrible power into these woods, Naug."

Gimli called up his gambler's face once again and replied, "I know not what you are talking about."

"The box, Dwarf."

"What box? I have no box. What manner of fool are you, Elf, to talk such nonsense. Box indeed! Humph!"

At this display of bravado, Haldir smiled gently and knelt down to look the Dwarf in the eye.

"You are indeed brave, Gimli, son of Gloin! Elrond chose well in giving you this task. You shall be named Elf-friend, and although we will never tell the exact nature of your deed, we shall sing songs of your courage for Ages to come. For today, you have saved Lothlórien and all its inhabitants from darkness."

And Gimli, perceiving that this Elf meant him no harm, said, "You speak kind words, Sir Elf. May I know the name of the one who addresses me so graciously?"

Haldir placed his hand over his heart: "I am Haldir, Marchwarden of Lothlórien."

"Well then, Haldir, this," said Gimli as he dug into his pack and drew forth the box, "is for you. Elrond told me to see it into your personal care."

Haldir took the box reverently, bowing to Gimli as he did so.

"Master Dwarf, you do not know the joy and relief that you bring to the Elves this day. We shall speak no more of this matter, but when at last you leave these Woods, I shall be proud to call you my friend. Now, quickly, let us return to the others and make our way to Caras Galadhon, home of the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn."

And in his mind, Haldir added, "Before it is too late."

"I know what you saw, for it is also in my mind."

Frodo gasped and stared at the Lady. Without quite understanding why, he had arisen from the sleeping area the Galadhrim had prepared for the Companions and followed Galadriel to her secret garden in the middle of the night. When she had invited him to look in the Mirror, he had hesitated, but then accepted. And what he had seen - the death, the destruction, the horror - had left him almost numb. How could she know his vision?

"You doubt my powers?" Galadriel asked, her voice taking on an edge. "I am the one to whom the Mirror was given, and I am an ancient Elf, possessed of great powers. I see what is in your mind and, through your eyes, what the Mirror reveals to you."

Frodo stared at her.

"Stop gaping, you foolish Hobbit! Did your Uncle Bilbo never tell you of his encounters with the Elves? Or did you imagine us to be mere pixies and fairies, flitting about the flowers and sliding on rainbows? I am an Elven Queen and a warrior who has fought against Shadow for three Ages!"

"Oh, I have the greatest of respect for you, Lady Galadriel! Yes indeed, I do not doubt you or your powers!" Frodo stammered. " And I do not mean to seem ungrateful. 'Tis only, well, a lot has happened these past few weeks, and I guess I am feeling a bit overwhelmed. How can I, a mere Hobbit, stand against such evil as the Mirror has shown me?"

Galadriel's eyes flared in dangerously, making Frodo squirm.

"I see. Well now. You feel that you are not up this task? And yet it was you who were appointed to it by my son-in-law, Elrond, and tedious though he can be at times, he is downright uncanny in his ability to discern the true nature of those who stand before him. If he chose you, then you are the one meant to bear this burden. So stop simpering and accept your destiny! The Valar know the rest of us have enough to do without coddling you, Hobbit! You have a task to perform, and the fate of Middle-earth hangs in the balance!"

Frodo took a step backward. "Yes, yes, I know what I must do. And yet… and yet I am afraid to go on, for I do not want to be alone."

"Look at me, Frodo of the Shire," the Elf said in a low voice. "Look at me!"

As Frodo raised his eyes, she held her hand out between them, revealing a beautiful ring he had not noticed before. Her expression had changed, her eyes now filled with ancient grief.

"Yes, I, too, carry a Ring of Power," she said sadly, "and to be a Ringbearer is to be alone. So alone. There are no others who truly understand what a burden it is. No one understands. No one."

Galadriel hung her head, and Frodo was startled to realize that she was near to tears. Uncertain how to cope with a weeping she-elf, he held out his own hand with the One Ring in his palm. "If you think it would help, maybe you should take this Ring, too."

Galadriel's head snapped up, a near-feral expression on her features.

"You would give me the One Ring? You offer it to me freely?"

Frodo instantly doubted the wisdom of his offer, but found himself frozen like a mouse before a cobra until her eyes drifted toward the sky and her voice rose.

"In place of a Dark Lord, you would have a Dark Queen!"

The wind suddenly kicked up the leaves, whipping her hair around her. Dark clouds blotted out the moon. The lanterns in the garden flickered, their light shifting to a sickly green. Frodo began to back away from Galadriel, but she seemed not to notice. Reaching her arms toward the blackening sky, she continued.

"Yes, a mighty Queen! Beautiful as the raging seas! Powerful as the foundations of Arda! Terrible as the Dark Void itself! All who live will love me and-"

Her rantings were cut off when Celeborn dropped suddenly from the bough of a tree behind her and, in the blink of an eye, put his wife into a headlock. Frodo leapt back in alarm, stumbled and fell to the ground.

As Galadriel struggled, howling like a wild creature, Celeborn called out.

"Haldir! Quickly! The box! Open it! Now!"

The Marchwarden leapt from the shadows to his Lord's side and did as he was bidden. When he lifted the lid, a shadowy puff of powder sailed out on the wind, catching the half-mad Queen full in the face.

She froze. Her eyes, only moments before glowing with power and fury, softened. She stopped struggling and stared at the box. The shrieking winds died down. All the secret glade grew still. Frodo himself forgot to breathe. But Celeborn kept secure his hold on his wife and nodded grimly to his most trusted Guardian.

Haldir lifted a small, shimmering globe from the velvety interior of the box. Galadriel's gaze fixed on his hands as he slowly drew back the gilded covering to reveal a dark orb. At another nod from Celeborn, he carefully held the orb in front of Galadriel, and when she made no threatening movements, he pressed it against her lips, saying, "My Lady, a gift for you from Imladris."

With a tiny sigh, Galdriel parted her lips and allowed the orb to fall upon her tongue. Calm returned to her face, and the tension drained from her body. She moaned softly.

The dark green clouds parted, allowing the crescent of the waning moon to set the fountain waters sparkling once again.

Celeborn smiled with relief and shifted his grip into a gentle, loving embrace. Raising a hand to his heart, Haldir bowed to Galadriel, then set the box on the ground where his Lord could reach it easily. With a nod to Celeborn, the Marchwarden pulled a very confused Frodo to his feet and led him back to the guests' sleeping place.

"Well, that was quite a tale, Mister Frodo, make no mistake. But you still haven't told us what was in the box."

"I cannot say, for I do not know, Sam," Frodo replied.

Merry piped up: "Did you smell anything? You said there was a powder blowing around."

"Not really. The wind was mostly going the other way."

"What about a label? Was there some writing on the box?" Pippin asked helpfully. "You know, some Elvish or something?"

Frodo thought for a moment.

"Well," he said slowly, "when the moon came back out, I did see the lid lying on the ground. It had some fancy carving and jewels set in a circle. And right in the center, there was a mark. But it was nothing I recognized."

Sam leaned forward and smoothed a patch of soil between them.

"Here, Mister Frodo, draw it here in the dirt. If it's Elvish, Strider will know it. Right, Strider?"

Frodo did as he was asked, and Strider squatted down for a closer look as the others gathered around. After a few moments, the Man shook his head, "This is no Elvish rune known to me, Sam."

The Hobbits sighed in disappointment. Frodo frowned in thought a moment, then cried, "Oh, wait! There was another line, just here," and he reached out to sketch it in.

Strider gasped and rocked back on his heels.

"I have seen this rune once, long ago."

Boromir, who had been peering over Sam's shoulder, raised an eyebrow in question, but Strider ignored him and took a long draw on his pipe before answering.

"It is… an L."

The Hobbits looked at each other, and Pippin, fit to burst, blurted out, "But what does it mean?"

Strider's eyes grew distant as his mind wandered back over the years to the last time he had seen the mark: on a box in the hands of his beloved Arwen.

"So, like grandmother, like granddaughter, eh?" he thought to himself with a small smile, remembering afresh the stinging slap he'd received across his face all those years before. The others would never know how close Middle-earth had come to destruction last night.

The sharp poke of a Hobbit's elbow in his ribs brought him back to find Pippin glaring at him impatiently. He ruffled the Halfling's hair and said lightly, "'Tis a craftsman's mark. It is the sign of-" and he paused.

"Lindtir."

* The End *


End file.
